


Fifty Days

by TrickyVicky3



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:48:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickyVicky3/pseuds/TrickyVicky3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifty days covering from when they first met.</p><p>The first day you meet him you don't know what to think, he stands tall, despite the crutch, and makes eye contact with everyone who passes, refusing to look down. You shake his hand, but only because the others do. You ignore those deep brown eyes, staring, wide up at you, and move away, you don't have time to play wet-nurse to some puppy dog eyed agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifty Days

**Author's Note:**

> By slurs I basically mean Sousa is referred to as "the crippled" at one point.

The first day you meet him you don't know what to think, he stands tall, despite the crutch, and makes eye contact with everyone who passes, refusing to look down. You shake his hand, but only because the others do. You ignore those deep brown eyes, staring, wide up at you, and move away, you don't have time to play wet-nurse to some puppy dog eyed agent.

The second day you learn his name - oh, Agent Sousa, you're going to have some fun with that. And you watch in disbelief as he stutters and stammers around Carter, blushes like a goddamn virgin. And isn't that interesting - a virgin, so you brush against his fingers when you hand him a file, and your gaze is a little more heated than usual when you make eye-contact, but it doesn't have to mean anything. Right?

The fifth day you call him Susan, unused to such dry wit and sarcasm at work you stop mid-sentence when he interrupts you, mild humour lacing his words as he calls you out. You snap at him, and rather like the way the tips of his ears go red. So Susan sticks, if only because you like how the heat of his glare feels on the back of your neck.

The eighth day you discover his first name. Daniel. Biblical, and suddenly the whole 'blushing virgin thing' makes sense. Carter says it when they accidentally bump into each other, "Oh, Daniel" and you imagine saying it "Dan - Danny - Daniel". But you don't, so you settle for snide formalities, and ignore the prickle of jealousy you feel every time she gets away with it.

The thirteenth day he calls you Jack, not Thompson, for the first time. And you snap "That's Agent Thompson to you" and the bloody bastard just smiles adorably - no, not adorably, naively, yeah. The bloody bastard just smiles naively at you and starts hobbling away, you pretend you don't hear the witty "Sure thing Jack" he calls over his shoulder, and if you catch yourself smiling idiotically at random periods over the rest of the day, well, that's nothing to do with it.

\---

The nineteenth day the Chief pairs you together for the first time, you moan, make a big deal out of it, complain about having to babysit. But the Chief insists, so that's it. You leave the bureau together, at least you're not with Carter. At least he's not. You're sent to ask questions, go round houses, you know why the two of you were chosen.

You, the handsome, blond hair, blue eyes, and more than enough people have commented on your jawline, your cheekbones. The pretty boy, giving them something to look at.

Him, the injured war hero, the crippled, sorrowful trusting eyes, resting sad-face, voice soft enough - kind enough to convince even the hardest of people to drop their facades. Giving them someone to trust.

\---

The twenty-first day the Chief pairs you up again. And the twenty-fourth. Twenty-eighth. By the thirty-fifth you don't even fight it anymore, you don't wait for the Chief to make his list, you just whack Sousa on the shoulder and head towards the door, smugly content in the knowledge he'll follow you out, smirking as you hear his crutch tapping along the hard floor behind you.

\---

The fortieth day you get shot at, and you freeze. He pushes you out of the way, swinging his crutch into the face of the man holding the gun, and checks you over as you sit, gasping for breath. Memories of bloodshed and hate swirling through your head, racing terrified in the dark, tears and blood running down your face, mixing in rivulets of dirt and sweat. Fear. 

The fortieth day he saves your life. He helps you breath, keeps his hands on your shoulders as you come back down, holds you tightly to his chest. He doesn't bring up the tears, and even if he did you'd deny them. Later when you're both back at work he tells the tale of how you brought down the bad guy, how he just stood back and let you make the collar. He smiles at you, and through the back pats, through the congratulations, you smile back.

The fortieth day you realise you're in love with him. 

\---

The forty-first day you ignore him. He smiles at you when you walk into the room, you let your gaze sweep over him, dismissive, and carry on to your desk. You ignore the wounded noise he makes when, for the first time in twenty days, you request to be paired with someone else, anyone else. And you walk away when he calls out after you, pushing him away when he grabs your arm, snarling "Don't touch me".

The forty-first day the Chief pairs him with Carter, and you watch from behind paperwork as they smile at each other, tones light and flirty. You tamper down the flashes of heat, of anger within you, you started this, it's your fault. Huh. Isn't it always. 

\---

The forty-third day Carter comes to you. Corners you in the locker room and locks the door, you start to make a joke, questioning her appearance. Why here? Why now? But you stop when you look at her, really look at her, you can see why he likes her, why he belongs with her, rather than you.

Her voice is soft when she finally speaks, her tone kind, questioning. And you don't deserve that, you don't deserve her pity, so you spit, and you snarl, it's what you do best, hurt first, ask questions later. But she doesn't take it, her voice becomes harder, questions more demanding. But you're not going to give in, not to her.

At least not until she brings him up. And the dam breaks. 

\---

The forty-fourth day you follow him into the bathroom, lock the door, and apologise. These past few days have been the hardest you've ever had to emotionally deal with - has it really only been four days? It feels like longer. You ignore the sharp stabbing feeling in your gut when he lashes out at you, not physically - you don't think he'd ever hurt you willingly, but he shouts, his tone accusatory as his eyes begin to water, face red as his voice shakes. 

And if it hurts you this much then you can't imagine how he's been feeling. So you stand there and take it while he rants, and he raves, and you can't meet his eyes, so full of broken trust. So you stare solemnly at the crack in the mirror behind him, a jagged edge to a perfect sheen. How poetic, metaphorical even.

You don't explain, even though you owe it to him, you just apologise, don't bring up Carter, don't bring up him saving your goddamn life. Just say sorry like it's not hard, like you don't want to press him against the wall, touch him, kiss him, make him writhe until his voice is shaking for an entirely different reason, until you forget how he looks when he's shouting at you, anger and hurt seeping through.

So when he accepts it, you question it, it was so easy, too easy, how could he just forgive you like that. "Idiot" he breathes and the warm air hits your face, when did he get so close. And more importantly, why aren't you moving back? You swallow, suddenly nervous, and watch as his eyes track the movement of your throat, pupils dilated. 

Ah. What the hell.

You push him up against the sink, careful not to be too harsh, not wanting to hurt him, and you kiss him. Hard. His hands come up to card through your hair, pulling sharply and you grin into his mouth at the pleasure and pain it brings you. Biting down on his bottom lip sharply, your hands move to his face, holding him still as you tilt your head to lick into his mouth. 

This kiss is quite possibly the dirtiest thing you've ever done clothed, and you're doing it with a man, a fellow agent at that, in a locked bathroom where anyone could walk in. You love it. Your bodies are pressed together now, and you can feel him growing hard against your leg. Higher up, where your chests meet, you feel the rapid beating of his heart in sync with yours.

He moans loudly and pulls you against him harder, in response you card a knee between his parted legs, and push your thigh against his crotch, letting him know just what he does to you too. His arms drop from your shoulders and - though you'll deny it later - you whine at the loss of his hands from your hair as they scrabble to find purchase on the counter between the sinks behind him. He misjudges the distance though, and sends his crutch clattering loudly to the floor.

You both break away, panting harshly into eachother's mouths, breath obscenely loud in the otherwise silent room until, "Everyone alright in there?" Accompanied by a soft knock on the door. You meet his eyes, wide, worried, and shout back "Everything's fine" as the man behind the voice starts rattling the door handle. You smirk into the skin under Sousa's ear, and knead at the flesh of his hip through the fabric of his trousers, grinning wider as he shivers at the touch.

"Actually" you continue, nipping playfully at his Adams apple, "I think the door's jammed, be a good fellow and get someone to come take a look at that yeah? I don't wanna be stuck in here all day". Lie. There's nowhere else you'd rather be right now than stood here, touching him.

"A'ight Thompson" and the voice disappears. Sousa pushes you away, then pulls you closer again, "You bastard" he laughs into your shirt collar. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and rest your chin on his head, smiling softly to yourself. 

The door rattles again and you groan, nuzzling into Sousa's hair, "God that was far too quick". Sousa stifles a laugh as you push away from the counter to pick up his crutch. "Boys?" Carter's voice filters through the door, she sounds far too happy, you note irritably.

You hand him his crutch back, press a demanding kiss to the corner of his mouth, and whisper softly, "Later yeah?" He smiles back at you, a promising smile, and presses a longer kiss to your lips in retaliation as he saunters - yes, saunters towards the door, even with the goddamn crutch it's an admirable thing, the view's not too bad either.

He unlocks it and grins innocently up at Carter, she looks past him and eyes you suspiciously. You match his innocent smile, and squeeze past them, strutting back to the office as three men, including the janitor, head past you towards the bathroom. 

\--

The forty-fifth day you head over to his place, and spend the whole day there. You're happier than you've ever been.

The forty-seventh day Carter meets you in the locker room - again - and thanks you, before punching you, friendly, playful. And asks you why it "took so goddamn long you pair of idiots".

The fiftieth day he tells you he loves you, and hearing it, then saying it back, is the best feeling in the world.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed, this pairing is quickly becoming one of my faves!
> 
> Feedback is beautiful!


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